


Last Call

by Rickey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Ficlet, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-21
Updated: 2007-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rickey/pseuds/Rickey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the night, it’s time to go home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Call

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Harry/Ron Burrow-thon (May 21, 2007) - 3 prompts out of a hat and hour to post :)
> 
> Prompts: Hufflepuff, Dark Mark, Duvel
> 
> Big 10Q to thrihyrne for the beta.

**Last Call**

“Muggle bars,” Ron mumbled unhappily under his breath as he strode through the door. It was one thirty in the morning. The place was dark and stank of stale beer and cigarettes. He hated that Harry always wanted to meet in them, but Harry was Harry and that was that. It had been three months since he had last seen him. They kept as little contact as possible to protect Harry’s anonymity. Two years had passed since the fall of Voldemort and still Harry insisted on staying away from the wizarding world, a world that included Ron and Hermione. Ron missed Harry terribly. He ached for the day when Harry would return to their world and to his side.

Ron sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey. At the moment the liquor touched his lips, he felt an unmistakable presence behind him. He swallowed hard and turned to see Harry smiling at him. Ron stood immediately and enveloped his best mate in a bone-crushing hug, a Molly Weasley special.

Harry pulled away first. “Let’s get a table.”

Ron nodded and followed Harry to a quiet corner. Within twenty seconds of sitting down, a waitress came by to take their order. “What’ll it be? Last call’s in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll take a Duvel,” Harry replied.

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

“Belgian beer. Try it. You’ll like it.”

“All right, make it two,” Ron said to the waitress.

“You got it,” she replied and headed to the bar to get their beers.

“I thought Belgians only made good chocolate,” said Ron.

“And beer,” said Harry.

They sat in silence, studying each other until the waitress came back a few minutes later. She poured the beer from the bottles and into pint glasses for them. Harry paid and tipped her well. Well, Ron guessed that she must have, because she winked at him before she went to the bar and started to clean the counter.

“Cheers mate,” Ron lifted his pint glass in toast.

“Cheers.”

They each took a large gulp.

“So…” Harry began.

“How are you?” Ron asked first, as always.

“Good.”

“When are you coming back?” Ron asked second, as always.

“I don’t know.”

These were the same two answers that Harry always gave and they turned Ron’s stomach.

“Harry,” Ron whispered.

“Ron, don’t. Please, just tell me what’s been going on.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely.

“The Ministry has released twenty Death Eater sympathizers, basically anyone who had been found guilty of aiding the Death Eaters but who hadn’t taken the Dark Mark.”

“Is the Order worried?”

“No, my dad was even involved in overseeing the release. People are trying to move on.”

“What about you?”

“I’m moving on, Harry. I have been for two years. Just cause I like working for Fred and George doesn’t mean I don’t have a life.”

“I didn’t say that. I meant…”

“What?”

“I only wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“I miss you, Harry.”

“Ron…there’s a reason I don’t let Hermione come and see me anymore. I can’t… It’s too hard.”

“I’m sorry,” Ron said. They had been down this road before. It was a long circular path and nothing ever got resolved. Ron couldn’t bear the thought of being cut off. He was the only one who Harry kept in touch with as minimal as it was. It would kill him not to know. They were Harry’s terms and Ron was going to keep them.

“How is Hermione?”

“She’s dating a Hufflepuff.”

“You okay?” Harry asked, his voice full of concern.

“I’ve moved on from that as well.”

“Really?” Harry asked disbelieving.

“Really.”

The waitress returned to their table. “Last call, gents. You need another?”

“No thanks,” Harry replied.

The waitress returned to the bar and began drying some washed glasses. Harry tipped his glass and finished the remainder of his Duvel. Ron followed suit.

“Not bad for Muggle beer,” Ron conceded.

Harry stood first and Ron followed him outside to the deserted street. They walked down the block to a quiet alley.

“I’ll contact you in a few weeks, okay?”

Ron froze. He was tired of this, so tired of this. Tired of not seeing Harry. Tired of talking about nothing of any importance when they did see each other. Tired of this careful dance. And tired of not saying what he really meant to say. It had always been there this thick layer of desire between them, a desire to be closer than they both thought permissible. They both felt it. That much was obvious, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that more important than Harry’s insecurities? Wasn’t that more important than Harry’s disdain for fame and the Ministry? For Ron, Harry’s excuses had indeed worn thin.

“You okay there, mate?” Harry asked, reaching out to touch Ron’s arm.

Ron shook his head. He could feel the nausea swell and the acid rise. He was dizzy, so dizzy. He stumbled forward. Black.

When Ron opened his eyes, he was lying on his back. It seemed like a sofa. Harry came into focus.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Harry said softly and sat on the edge of the cushion next to him.

“What happened?”

“You passed out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a smile and brushed a stray lock of hair out of Ron’s eye. “I Apparated us back to my flat."

Ron slowly sat up and looked around the simple flat. “This is your place?”

“Yeah.”

“Cleaner than I imagined.”

Harry smiled.

Ron had never been to Harry’s flat. They had always met in Muggle bars late at night and always a different place. Once, Harry had met both Hermione and Ron in a library, but that was it. Harry had said that it was too dangerous for them to know his whereabouts. Ron pondered what that truly meant.

“Here, drink some water.” Harry grabbed a glass of water from the coffee table and handed it to Ron.

When Ron had finished drinking, he handed the glass back to Harry. Their fingers brushed along the smooth cold contour. Ron allowed his hand to linger until Harry pulled it away and set it back upon the coffee table.

“Better?” Harry asked his face so close that Ron could see small flecks of white in the green of his iris.

“Better than what?” Ron asked.

“Sarcasm. You must be feeling better.”

“Don’t make me go,” Ron blurted out before he could stop himself.

“You can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s not. It’s not dangerous. It’s been two years, Harry.”

“Not that kind of danger, danger of being found.”

“Are you lost?” The retort had more bite than Ron intended.

Harry began to stand, but Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to the sofa.

“Ron, don’t,” Harry choked out.

“Not this time,” Ron whispered and breached the small empty space between them. His mouth collided with Harry’s while both hands grabbed Harry’s arms and held him firmly in place. When Ron was thoroughly satisfied that he had made his point, he pulled his mouth back but continued to hold tight onto Harry.

Wide-eyed and panting, Harry stared back at him.

“So there it is, all of it. Is that what you were afraid I’d find?”

“You bastard,” Harry spat and struggled in Ron’s grip.

“I love you. I have always loved you.” Ron’s voice was sure and steady.

“Shut up,” Harry growled low and continued to struggle in Ron’s grasp.

“No, I will not. I love you. That’s what you’ve been running from, isn’t it?”

Harry shook his head and single tear leaked from the corner of his eye.

Ron pushed on, “You think I didn’t feel it too? You think I didn’t know? I wanted to tell you. I wanted to…I wanted to…I wanted-“ Ron crushed his mouth back up against Harry’s. This time he opened Harry’s lips with his own over and over again. When he pulled back, Harry was flushed with want while his eyes filled with panic.

“That!” Ron shouted. “This!” In one fluid motion, Ron changed his grip from Harry’s upper arm to his wrist and pulled Harry’s hand over the large bulge in his crotch.

In shock, Harry gasped.

“Fuck!” Ron yelled out in frustration and released Harry completely. He reached inside his jacket pocket for his wand.

“Don’t go,” Harry whispered.

Ron took a deep breath and blinked several times. Harry reached out and took the wand from his hand and gently placed it on the coffee table.

“Stay.”

“And?” Ron questioned, uncertain as to what he was truly asking.

“And you can kiss me again.”

And so he did.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've never really done prompts like this before. I also don't usually write like this: sit down for a couple hours and type out a story. I usually think and think and write and rewrite than make notes then write... (ie. painfully slow writer). Anyway, this was hard and I give people who write like this a heck of a lot of credit.


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